When it comes to the world of retail, and it's moronic inhabitants, I considered myself an expert. But I was oh so wrong. Experts have to have far more experience than I. However, after this past weekend, I am starting to catch up.
This past weekend, I was properly introduced to a new special breed of idiots. You know them as the people who go through "self-checkout" or, as my brother and I call it, U-SCAM. It's only fair to classify such a species into it's own breed. While there are several types of this breed, they all share some similar qualities. Kind of like platypus. Dopey looking with big mouths. They also have that "Do it yourself" attitude, which is to be expected at a hardware store, but not to this degree. No, these platypus have an air of pretentiousness about them. They somehow feel superior to other people because they know how to scan something. (I think that must be it, I can draw no other conclusions at this time. Further research is needed.)
So, needless to say, I was placed on the self checkout line for several stints this weekend. I was able to classify a few of the sub species of this particular brand of moron. Remember, that at the hardware store, a green light means go, and a red light means "Customer Needs Assistance," or, in non-corporate terms, someone is more than likely being an idiot. In no specific order, I have found the following:
The Waitless: These are the people who's time is far too important to stand in line. They will gladly run 1/3 of the way across the store to scan the items themselves, only to be tripped up by something like their card not scanning properly. They end up taking 10 minutes longer than expected. Then they feel satisfied after they leave that they saved themselves some time. Its only after they reached the door and see the person that was behind them in a normal line walking out ahead of them do they realize how anal they were. Next time, they will bring a better card.
The Weightless: These are the morons who don't understand the term "scale." OK, newsflash here, "scale" is not a chic term coined by some in group at the hardware store for the use of their self checkout. No, a "scale," as surprising as this sounds, is an instrument used to measure weight. You fat asses in Lane 37 remember this right? Its that thing you would step on, and after it got to the 4th digit, you would cry youself to sleep every night, remembering the good ol' days of when 800 was nice and trim. Can I offer you a dictionary with your order today? The worst thing about the Weightless is that sometimes, they don't get it, even after you explain it to them. They keep trying to pull stuff off of this weird "scale" and put it into their cart. Then, the little light above them flashes red, signaling their stupidity until I mercifully hit the button. Sometimes, I just let it flash and pretend I am busy with another customer. Makes it all the more funny to make the Weightless a little like the Waitless.
The "Not Drawn to Scale": This subspecies is similar to the Weightless, except they understand the concept of what a scale is, they just don't understand that it measures weight properly, and that a 1'x4'x16' piece of lumber isn't going to fit on a scale designed for a bag of fertilizer. Just isn't going to happen. They lean it up on the edge of the scale, so that it damn near smacks the camera dangling from our 40' ceiling. Then, when the red light goes off, they throw up their hands in disgust, claiming that they put the piece of "OMGTOOBIG" on the scale. No dickstump, you didn't. You leaned it up against the edge of the scale. Have you ever only put your toe on the scale in your bathroom? Its not an accurate reflection of your weight, regardless of how big your big toe actually is. Then, after I give them the green light, they complicate the matters by...you guessed it, trying to move the lumber so that it fits on the scale...thus setting off the red light.
The Mathematician: A very rare species, since most people understand 1st grade math. However, human ignorance knows no bounds. In an "effort" to keep transactions secure, the hardware store requires the last 4 digits of your credit card when charging a purchase. In other words, we are trying to dick with you. I understand NO reason for this, but we are actually REQUIRED to do it. In fact, we can't complete a sale with a credit card until we verify the last 4 digits on their credit card. (Note: Debit card is cool, you just punch in your pin and go. Whatev. But Credit cards? Oh no. We complicate those.)So, when the little old lady starts swearing at the machine because her credit card doesn't require a pin, it is time for me to save the universe from her wrath by making her feel like an idiot. This is the perfect sting for me, because the red light never comes on in this instance. No. I get to go all James Bond on her and walk up and humiliate her without anyone else knowing. Its a covert mission. Get in. Make em look stupid. Get out. And of course, thank them and tell them to have a nice day.After explaining to her (twice) that our store requires the last four digits on her card, and that if she looks at the touch screen where she scanned her order, she will see that it prompts her for such a thing, Ms. Mentalblock finally succumbs to my logic and listens to what the computer has been screaming at her to do for the last 3 minutes. She says that it doesn't make sense, and that she doesn't have to do that anywhere else she goes. This is true. Kroger, the Nail Salon, and the Psych Ward don't require the last four digits on your card. Thanks again, and have a nice day.
Faux Independent: So far, I consider this the pinnacle of the species, as these are the absolute worst. These are the people who will need to have items looked up. Bags of concrete, topsoil, a certain screw. They might need softner salt, a grill, or a propane exchange. None of these are all that bad, mind you, but remember, he is in SELF checkout. Knowing full well that you are going to require assistance in your purchase immediately nullifies any logic of going through a self checkout. Its a double time hassle to assist one customer for so long, when the majority of the masses have red lights above their heads, and a flustered look on their face that only gets worse the longer you spend with the Faux. It gets even better when the lines are full, and he asks you to ring him out. Um, hello? Self checkout. This makes the Faux even more irate, as he is forced to go into the "normal" checkout lines with the other "non-platypi." When he argues that you have a register, the common comeback is, yes, in emergencies. I can NOT help these 4 people with red lights over them because YOU don't want to wait in line. Excuse me, I have a mathematician on 38 who needs assistance remembering what the number 2 looks like. As I delve deeper into this cesspool, I will bring to light any more species I find of this fascinating, yet dangerous group of "people."
-Deimos
Thursday, April 30, 2009
TPS Report 04/20/2009
This past Sunday, it was raining. And I mean raining. Hard enough to postpone baseball games until July, but not hard enough to stop a football game. (Then again, what is?) So needless to say, I am on the front lines at the hardware store. Biting my tongue is difficult at times, especially when you have 40,000 square feet to cover and there is bound to be at least 1 idiot in there somewhere.
Well, just so happens, there were several idiots today. Let me paint the scene for you. I come back from my little 15 minute breather, and there is a shopping cart full of flowers and other gardening accessories off to the side of the aisle by the cashiers. No one around. I mean no one. I figure some 13 year old ran out and pulled some stuff from the Lawn and Garden center and ran it in here. Haha...jokes on us. Moron.
So, I begrudgingly turn on my light, to indicate I am there to appease the masses. Woman two lanes down also has her light on. About ten minutes later, I have all but forgotten this shopping cart in the aisle, after all, out of sight, out of mind. Suddenly, there is a big ol' argument two lanes to my right. There, two very large and very angry women are arguing over a shopping cart filled with plants and other gardening accessories.
OK, first of all, if you are planning on planting these flowers during the rainstorm, you are an idiot, so immediately, my analysis of the situation is that we have two fat, stupid chickens bawking over a shopping cart full of stuff that could easily be gotten off the shelves. We have 40,000 square feet people, we have more of whatever it is you want, especially PLANTS in APRIL. If you aren't planting these when you get home, what are you going to do, let them sit on your table? Makes no sense. Again, they are idiots, it might.
So the fat white hen squabbles that it was HER cart, and she left it there to go get other items (which, by the way, she has NONE of in hand). The black fat chicken says, Nuh uh, this be mine. Argument basically goes like this. Finally, fat white hen fluffs her feathers at the poor cashier, who wants nothing more than to help the next person in line. (Where are the managers at this point? Jesus, save this poor woman! Needless to say, they never come.) The cashier just smiles and shrugs. It was the right thing to do. Why? Because at this point, fat white hen notices that I am paying attention to the situation.
So she clucks over to me a little and asks that I "make this woman give me my cart back." I blink a few times to assess the situation. Black chicken outweighs me by a good 200 lbs. If I could clip her leg, I might be able to roll out of the way before she comes tumbling down. However, this is risky. I could get rolled up into a spamburger. Again, we are dealing with items that are plentiful in lawn and garden. Heavens forbid you strut back over there and get some more exercise to get the items you want. Not exactly a risk versus reward type of deal. I smile at her and politely ask where she left the cart. (As if I didn't know)
She points over to the aisle I saw the cart at. I then string her along, asking who was watching the cart. No one. How long were you gone? She says less than five minutes. I cock my eyebrow at fat white hen. "Well," I said, "I have been here for about fifteen minutes, and the cart was here when I got out here, and it was unattended. An unattended cart is like merchandise on the shelf." White hen's face gets a little red. I continue on, trying to push the point home. "Even if it is YOUR cart, (which it isn't, because it says Property of) I can't MAKE her do anything."
Furious, fat white hen struts up to black chicken and shouts in her ear "I hope you are happy with yourself." Black chicken says "Yea, cuz I didn't do nuthin'." Fat white hen, feathers ruffled, stomps out of the store. I look at the cashier, who at this point, is almost mortified. I smile a Cheshire Cat smile at her before turning back to my lane. Another satisfied customer in the books. "NEXT!" I yell boomingly.
-Deimos
Well, just so happens, there were several idiots today. Let me paint the scene for you. I come back from my little 15 minute breather, and there is a shopping cart full of flowers and other gardening accessories off to the side of the aisle by the cashiers. No one around. I mean no one. I figure some 13 year old ran out and pulled some stuff from the Lawn and Garden center and ran it in here. Haha...jokes on us. Moron.
So, I begrudgingly turn on my light, to indicate I am there to appease the masses. Woman two lanes down also has her light on. About ten minutes later, I have all but forgotten this shopping cart in the aisle, after all, out of sight, out of mind. Suddenly, there is a big ol' argument two lanes to my right. There, two very large and very angry women are arguing over a shopping cart filled with plants and other gardening accessories.
OK, first of all, if you are planning on planting these flowers during the rainstorm, you are an idiot, so immediately, my analysis of the situation is that we have two fat, stupid chickens bawking over a shopping cart full of stuff that could easily be gotten off the shelves. We have 40,000 square feet people, we have more of whatever it is you want, especially PLANTS in APRIL. If you aren't planting these when you get home, what are you going to do, let them sit on your table? Makes no sense. Again, they are idiots, it might.
So the fat white hen squabbles that it was HER cart, and she left it there to go get other items (which, by the way, she has NONE of in hand). The black fat chicken says, Nuh uh, this be mine. Argument basically goes like this. Finally, fat white hen fluffs her feathers at the poor cashier, who wants nothing more than to help the next person in line. (Where are the managers at this point? Jesus, save this poor woman! Needless to say, they never come.) The cashier just smiles and shrugs. It was the right thing to do. Why? Because at this point, fat white hen notices that I am paying attention to the situation.
So she clucks over to me a little and asks that I "make this woman give me my cart back." I blink a few times to assess the situation. Black chicken outweighs me by a good 200 lbs. If I could clip her leg, I might be able to roll out of the way before she comes tumbling down. However, this is risky. I could get rolled up into a spamburger. Again, we are dealing with items that are plentiful in lawn and garden. Heavens forbid you strut back over there and get some more exercise to get the items you want. Not exactly a risk versus reward type of deal. I smile at her and politely ask where she left the cart. (As if I didn't know)
She points over to the aisle I saw the cart at. I then string her along, asking who was watching the cart. No one. How long were you gone? She says less than five minutes. I cock my eyebrow at fat white hen. "Well," I said, "I have been here for about fifteen minutes, and the cart was here when I got out here, and it was unattended. An unattended cart is like merchandise on the shelf." White hen's face gets a little red. I continue on, trying to push the point home. "Even if it is YOUR cart, (which it isn't, because it says Property of
Furious, fat white hen struts up to black chicken and shouts in her ear "I hope you are happy with yourself." Black chicken says "Yea, cuz I didn't do nuthin'." Fat white hen, feathers ruffled, stomps out of the store. I look at the cashier, who at this point, is almost mortified. I smile a Cheshire Cat smile at her before turning back to my lane. Another satisfied customer in the books. "NEXT!" I yell boomingly.
-Deimos
TPS Report 04/02/2009
Woman comes into the hardware store today and picks up SEVEN, yes, SEVEN rolls of Pink Panther insulation. She then gets mad when I tell her the total is $140.00 give or take a few cents. She says that last time she bought seven of these, it was 14 a hit, not 20. Now, I understand that 42 bucks can go a long way, especially these days with everyone trying to save pennies, but seriously lady. If your house needs insulation THAT badly, you are going to pay whatever we offer it up as.
Now, trying to be nice, I reminded her of the Low Price Guarantee thing. Ya' know, where you find it cheaper, they match it plus knock an additional 10% off. Her response? "You guys are the cheapest place." So...once again, if you need it that badly...why wouldn't you buy it at the cheapest location? Not to mention, she said we ARE the cheapest place, not WERE the cheapest, meaning that our prices are still competitive enough at 20 bucks a shot.
So, trying to be nice (not sure why at this point), I ask her when she bought these other rolls. She says a few months ago. That would be Winter there lady, when I am sure Insulation prices might very well be different since its a different season. Same concept applies to a lot of items, like grills, lawnmowers, snow movers etc. How many people are buying snow movers in May and June? Flustered at this point, she stammers out, saying she will just have to come back when they are cheaper. See ya in October, if I am not lucky.
-Deimos
Now, trying to be nice, I reminded her of the Low Price Guarantee thing. Ya' know, where you find it cheaper, they match it plus knock an additional 10% off. Her response? "You guys are the cheapest place." So...once again, if you need it that badly...why wouldn't you buy it at the cheapest location? Not to mention, she said we ARE the cheapest place, not WERE the cheapest, meaning that our prices are still competitive enough at 20 bucks a shot.
So, trying to be nice (not sure why at this point), I ask her when she bought these other rolls. She says a few months ago. That would be Winter there lady, when I am sure Insulation prices might very well be different since its a different season. Same concept applies to a lot of items, like grills, lawnmowers, snow movers etc. How many people are buying snow movers in May and June? Flustered at this point, she stammers out, saying she will just have to come back when they are cheaper. See ya in October, if I am not lucky.
-Deimos
Due to Popular Demand
I have begun writing a blog on all my adventures as I combat the World of Stupidity. Just for the sake of clearness and understanding, these situations are often times referred to as "TPS Reports."
The term TPS Report comes from the movie Office Space, a pop culture classic that more or less articulates the droning world of business. I, however, will use the TPS Report as an acronym for Tales of the Pitifully Stupid Report. While some of them might become long winded, there are others that will be much shorter. An example of some of the random, or retarded things, I have encountered.
I was working at the game store when a customer came in and the following conversation ensued:
Her: How long would it take for you to order a game?
Me: About a week or so usually.
Her: Ah. Do you know where the nearest Jewish Temple is?
What makes these cases so sad is that they are totally true. I can't make this stuff up, I swear. Here is another prime example:
I was working at a sub sandwich type shop. The kind where we make the order right before your eyes and everything. Customer sees the sign that says "Dagwood - Make your own Sub," and with all sincerety says, "But I don't know how to make your sandwiches. Why would I want to make the sandwich myself?"
It is these types of experiences that have forced me to start documenting them, because as I get older, I will inevitably forget, and these treasures will be lost forever.
-Deimos
The term TPS Report comes from the movie Office Space, a pop culture classic that more or less articulates the droning world of business. I, however, will use the TPS Report as an acronym for Tales of the Pitifully Stupid Report. While some of them might become long winded, there are others that will be much shorter. An example of some of the random, or retarded things, I have encountered.
I was working at the game store when a customer came in and the following conversation ensued:
Her: How long would it take for you to order a game?
Me: About a week or so usually.
Her: Ah. Do you know where the nearest Jewish Temple is?
What makes these cases so sad is that they are totally true. I can't make this stuff up, I swear. Here is another prime example:
I was working at a sub sandwich type shop. The kind where we make the order right before your eyes and everything. Customer sees the sign that says "Dagwood - Make your own Sub," and with all sincerety says, "But I don't know how to make your sandwiches. Why would I want to make the sandwich myself?"
It is these types of experiences that have forced me to start documenting them, because as I get older, I will inevitably forget, and these treasures will be lost forever.
-Deimos
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